Wherever I'm With You
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: Harry and Ginny are moving into their first home. 5 short stories featuring fluff, fluff and more fluff, with some guest appearances from the other Weasleys, and a cat. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** In addition to not owning anything related to Harry Potter, the title is from the lyrics to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros' _Home_. I also don't own a house. Sigh.

 **A/N:** Over on hpshipweeks dot tumblr dot com, it's Harry/Ginny week. If you're a fan, I'd definitely recommend heading over there to see all the amazing writing and artwork being created :) My own little contribution is to write a bunch of prompts I've received recently that are all based on Harry and Ginny's post-war lives together and bung 'em in one little collection. This is not a deep, serious work full of intricate plotting and many twists, it's pure, sugary fluff. I appreciate that that's not for everyone, but if you like that sort of thing, please enjoy five days of Harry and Ginny being silly goofballs together. What can I say, I clearly crave domesticity far too much...

* * *

 _(i) Harry and Ginny buy a house together_

It had been a slow night at work, no issues or major problems to deal with so he'd been able to clock off early, but Ginny was already up when he apparated back to Grimmauld Place. She was sat in the middle of the living room, wearing a pair of tiny pyjama shorts and one of his old t shirts, comically oversize, her hair gathered up on top of her head with a quill sticking through it to keep it in place. She was holding a huge steaming mug of tea and was surrounded by piles and piles of parchment.

"I hate nightshifts," she said, as he entered the room. "Almost as much as I hate paperwork."

"Good morning to you, too," he replied, leaning against the sofa to remove his work boots.

"I think you must be taking all the nights to avoid having to do all the organisational legal things about moving house," she said, and he grinned.

"You've caught me," he said, walking over to her. She tilted her head up as he sat down, and he kissed her lips quickly. She tasted of tea and buttered toast. "But it looks like you've got it all under control," he added, gesturing around the room. In addition to the piles of parchment, the living room was slowly starting to fill with boxes that had labels like BATHROOM and HARRY'S RUBBISH and FRAGILE—DON'T LET RON TOUCH. "So I guess I'll just leave you to sort it all out without any help..."

"See this?" Ginny asked, picking up a pile of parchment so thick it could probably be used as a doorstop, or as a Hermione-sized bit of light reading. He nodded. "This is the contract for the house. If you do, I'll edit it so you're not allowed to set foot within five miles of the place. Or maybe I'll just concuss you with it..."

"You could probably put me in hospital for a week with that thing," he agreed. "Have you read it yet?"

"Eh," she pulled a face. "I've skimmed through it. But I want to get it all read before we meet with the solicitor on Thursday."

"Thursday's the solicitor? I thought we were at Gringotts on Thursday?"

"No, that's Tuesday. Fleur set it up for us, remember? Tuesday at eleven thirty. But don't worry! I've made us a calendar," she said. "I've been channelling my inner Hermione." She waved her wand, and an enormous piece of parchment floated up and hovered in the air before them. With another wave of her wand, a grid with text appeared, in several different colours with flashing boxes and the occasional doodle of a flower.

"This is everything we need to do before moving day. So, things in purple—like the bank on Tuesday and the solicitor's Thursday—are things we both need to be at," she explained. "Then things in green are just me—I figured it only need one of us to see the bloke who's redoing the bathroom next week, and you're working then, so I'll go. Things in red are just you, and yellow is family and friends things—like, here, look, George is getting a big shipment of ingredients in next Monday, and he said we could have the boxes. And so on and so on, until, in exactly one month and three days, we get the keys!"

"Wow," said Harry, genuinely impressed at the level of detail. "You _have_ been channelling your inner Hermione."

Ginny nodded. "Well, I asked her for advice and her eyes actually lit up, I swear—it was like the old days of revision timetables. She offered to organise it for us, which was very sweet, but I prefer to just have general deadlines, rather than my life compartmentalised by the hour..."

"Minute," he amended, and she laughed. "You did all that this morning?"

"And last night. I hate it when you're out," she explained. "I never can sleep when you're working nights. So I thought I should put my time to good use..."

"I'm lucky to have you looking out for me," Harry said, smiling.

"Don't you forget it," she laughed.

Harry pulled her half onto his lap. "I'm excited," he said.

" _Me too_ ," she said with feeling, but then grew contrite. "But also _terrified_. All these meetings with the bank, and lawyers, and contracts and mortgages...don't they know I'm actually a child? That no one should be handing me so much responsibility?"

He laughed. "It's not funny, is it?" he said. The amount of adulting he'd had to do in the past few months, since they'd found _their_ home, had terrified him—and he earned a living catching Dark Wizards. "But hey. As long as I've got you by my side..."

She smiled hugely at this, looking so beautiful in the early morning light, with half her hair escaping from the quill-bun on top of her head and toothpaste flecks on her—his—shirt that he couldn't help but lean in and kiss her, then kiss her again, harder, as she shifted positions, wrapping her legs around him. He pulled her close, slipping his hands under her shirt and feeling the soft skin as she wound her own hands through his hair, tugging on it as she kissed him with fervour. They began to move together, falling backwards against the carpet until—

"Oh, bugger," said Ginny, as her half-drunk mug of tea was knocked over, soaking both the floor and several pieces of parchment.

Harry re-focused, with some difficulty. "Was it anything important?" he asked, nodding at the parchment that she was trying—unsuccessfully—to siphon tea out of.

"The architect's plans for the bathroom remodelling," she sighed.

"You know what? He can send us another copy," Harry said, tugging on her shirt again. She smirked. He never could resist that.

"You're right," she said, and she kissed him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I forgot to mention yesterday, but as Harry/Ginny week is only one week, this will be updating everyday through Thursday. So check back tomorrow for another update :)

* * *

 _(ii) Clearing her belongings out of The Burrow, Ginny finds a rather embarrassing old notebook detailing her crush on a Certain Someone..._

It was only May, but an early heatwave made the attic at The Burrow stiflingly hot. Ginny fanned a hand in front of her face listlessly. Cooling Charms didn't seem to work up here—she suspected the ghoul's influence—and the few windows didn't open at all. The heat was made worse by the fact that, out of the un-opened windows, Ginny could see most of her family out on the lawn, all having a wonderful time lounging around post-Sunday lunch, whilst she slaved away, sorting out her belongings to take to her new home with Harry.

Hermione and Percy were both reading in the shade, whilst Ron, Harry and Dad played with the children in a little paddling pool. As she watched, Bill came over, shooting water out of the end of his wand like a sprinkler and the children all squealed delightedly, dancing around in the droplets. She felt inordinately jealous of them. Only Angelina, who was heavily pregnant, looked as uncomfortable as she felt, but she did at least have the advantage of having George waiting on her hand and foot. Although...could _that_ really be classed as 'waiting on'? Really, if they were going for that sort of display, they should come with some sort of parental advisory warning.

"Who wants some lemonade?!" The two of them managed to separate themselves as Mum left the house, levitating a tray containing a large jug and several glances. And—was Fleur following behind her with _choc ices_? This was not fair _at all_.

Sulking, she turned back to her task at hand. She had three boxes in front of her, Hermione having shown her the undetectable extension charm to make them bottomless. One was for rubbish, one for things she was keeping, and one for things to be donated, and she was throwing everything she had owned into one of the three. It was not a particularly enjoyable task: things of use, like her clothes or books, had come with her when she'd moved into her own flat on the Harpies' grounds so most of what was left wasn't that important. But now that she and Harry had a "proper" house, her mother had told her that there was no excuse to be cluttering up her home anymore, and everything had to go.

She placed a single, battered trainer in the discard box, and a bunch of Hogwarts textbooks from third year in the donate box. Perhaps Professor McGonagall would want them for the library, or she could save them for Teddy in a few years. She was just debating whether or not to donate or discard a t shirt she had worn to death aged twelve after commandeering it from Charlie—really, should late-80s fashions be inflicted on anyone?—when she heard footsteps and Harry's appeared through the trapdoor.

"Knock knock," he said. "I've bought you some lemonade." He levitated two glasses up with him.

"I _love_ you," she said with feeling, draining half of hers in one go.

"Shame I can't stand you, then," he shrugged, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Merlin, it's hot in here."

"I know," she said miserably. "I'm still only half done! Who knew I had so much rubbish?"

"I tell you this every time I see your dressing table..."

"Yes, but why would I listen to _you_?"

"...good point. Come on. This. Where's it going?" Harry held up an old Remembrall.

"Uh...bin," Ginny said. "But I'll keep that," she added, as he extracted a hair grip.

"Really? You really need _another_ one of those? You have at least six million!"

"You can never have too many," Ginny said. "They vanish like you wouldn't believe..."

"Must be the gnomes," Harry said idly, as Ginny quickly sorted through a pile of clothes. He picked up some books—he didn't really think she'd need _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 4_ any time soon—and chucked it in the donate pile, uncovering a smaller notebook as he did so. "Hey, Gin, d'you want..."

His voice trailed off, and Ginny looked up. "Hmm? What is it? Harry?!" As she watched, his expression changed from amusement to delight to utter glee, and a wary feeling crept over her as he started to laugh. She'd managed to hide the most embarrassing baby photos but there were perhaps one or two that had slipped through the net... "Harry!"

He was positively howling now, and she was beginning to feel annoyed. She hadn't been _that_ ugly a child. And he wasn't even prepared to share the joke! " _What_ is it?!" she demanded again. In response, he passed her a notebook, and her stomach sank as she recognised it.

It had been her favourite birthday present the year she was nine, back when pretty notebooks did not remind her of the Diary, and she had dedicated it in its entirety to Practising Her Signature. That signature had not read "Ginny Weasley".

Or even "Ginevra Weasley".

Instead, over and over, the pages were filled with the words "Ginny Potter" and "Ginevra Potter" and the occasional "Ginny M Potter" in progressively fancier scripts. She should have destroyed it years ago.

" _When_ you've quite finished!" Harry paid no attention to this, clutching hold of a large wooden chest as his body was wracked by spasms of laughter.

"It's not _that_ funny!" Was he...he _was_ actually crying now, she noticed with some displeasure. "For Merlin's sake!"

She caught sight of one particularly large signature, where the 'i' in Ginny had been dotted with a heart. Her lips twitched, and she caught herself thinking of heart-i-dotting nine-year-old Ginny hearing the news that she was about to buy a home with _Harry Potter_.

She didn't think she'd have survived the news.

"Oi!" Ginny said, swatting Harry as his laughter became less hysterical.

"Sorry," he said, just about managing to keep a straight face. "I just...Ginevra Molly _Potter_!" He collapsed into peals again.

"Don't say it too much or I might change my mind," she warned.

"Nah, you won't," he said. "And I know why, see? It's because...now don't tell anyone, yeah? It's because _you fancy me_."

Ginny tackled him, landing on top and sending him sprawling backwards onto the attic floor. "Git," she said, holding up the third finger on her left hand. "It's probably mutual."

"I thought you were giving me the finger, then," he said.

"I'll give you something..."

"Ooh, I hope so!"

He'd only kissed her once, when "Oh—Jesus, _must_ you?!" Ginny and Harry broke apart—although she didn't move off him—and exchanged wry glances. Ron had a habit of popping up—this time literally, through the trapdoor—whenever they got anywhere close to doing anything physical. "If you two can keep your mitts off each other for more than two minutes, we need you both to play the Quidditch game we're setting up."

"We're very busy, thank you," Ginny said primly. "I have a lot of stuff to sort."

"Looks like it..." Ron said. "But you won't want to miss this game. Angelina obviously can't play because she has actually swallowed a Quaffle, but Fleur doesn't want to play either, so we're two men—well, women—down. _So_ , _Hermione and Percy_ have to play."

"We're in," Ginny said immediately, and Harry nodded.

"Good. Kick-off's in five!" Ron disappeared back down the trapdoor, and she rolled off Harry. "And no bloody snogging!" Ron's voice floated up, and Harry fake-pouted.

"We'll finish this later," he said, dropping the notebook in the 'keep' box. She raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry," he said, as they began to climb down the ladder. "I won't mention it to Ron. But we _have_ to keep it for posterity..."

* * *

"I can't believe next week you'll be moving into your own home," Hermione said, beaming delightedly at Harry and Ginny. She and Ron had stayed late, after their game of Quidditch, to help with the packing, and with her organisational skills, it had been done in no time.

"Little Harry, all grown up!" Ron said, and the others laughed. "I tell you, though—with the amount of stuff we extracted from upstairs, I don't begrudge you the unpacking time. Or the space! What's she allowed you, one drawer in the whole house for your stuff?"

"I resent that," Ginny said. "I've given him two _and_ half a wardrobe."

"Yes, because Ginny's enormous collection of stuffed toys does take precedence over my clothing, it's true," Harry said, and she pouted.

"There's nothing wrong with needing to take twelve teddy bears with you to your new house!" Hermione said, rallying to Ginny's defence. "If you were lucky enough to have a wonderful childhood, you should absolutely celebrate that! Take your stuffed toys and your photo frames and your...your..."

"Notebooks filled with practise-signatures for when you marry your celebrity crush?" Ron asked innocently.

Ginny whirled around to face her fiancé. "You lied!" she said. "You said you weren't going to say anything! You _git_!" Ron howled with laughter, but Hermione just looked confused.

"I-I-I didn't!" Harry stuttered, looking alarmed. "I swear, I didn't mention the—the you-know-what!"

"Then how does _he_ know all about... _it_?!" Ginny exclaimed, as Hermione demanded to be filled in and Ron continued to laugh.

" _Because_ ," said a voice from behind them, "I mentioned it when you were upstairs. You must have been busy reading, Hermione dear," Mum had stepped out of the kitchen, wringing out a tea towel. "Honestly, Ginny, did you think I would have no idea what was up there when I sent you to clear out your things? This is _my_ house, you know!"

"But...but...did you have to tell everyone?!" Ginny groaned.

Mum winked. "Mother's prerogative, dear."


	3. Chapter 3

_iii: Ginny is turned on by Harry as an Auror._

Ginny usually had trouble sleeping, the first night she spent in a new place. She had hoped it might be different tonight—they had had the busiest of days, beginning moving things at eight, and not finishing until eight in the evening, despite all the help from her family. The Weasleys had left after a thank-you dinner of pizza, then she and Harry had had to unpack the very basics—bed linen and shampoo and cutlery and mugs for their morning cup of tea, and, actually, when she thought about it, the "very basics" amounted to quite a lot—so they hadn't got to bed until nearly one in the morning. If his slow and steady breathing was anything to go by, Harry appeared to have fallen asleep straight away, but she was still awake almost an hour later.

Much as they had both loved the house, a beautiful old building that had once been a farmhouse, situated on the edge of Godric's Hollow, with an enormous, secluded garden perfect for knockabout games of Quidditch, it did not yet feel like home. She had just about resigned herself to a night of no sleep at all, when she heard a noise from downstairs, and was instantly on red-alert.

"Did you hear that?" a voice next to her hissed. Perhaps Harry wasn't quite so asleep after all.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she whispered back, already gripping her wand. There was another scuffling noise downstairs, and they both sat up, exchanging glances. The bedroom did not yet have any curtains, and there was a full moon, so she could see his face lit up in its glow. He looked apprehensive, but it was clear his Auror training was already kicking in.

A third noise came from downstairs, and they both threw back the covers and got out of bed, tensely gripping their wands. "Get behind me," he hissed in a low voice, pushing her back as they headed for the door. She was about to protest, but he added, "I want a good wand on my back. If anything happens to me, head upstairs straight away and send a Patronus to Ron and Hermione."

Ginny nodded once, squeezed his hand tightly, then followed him in creeping towards the stop of the stairs as softly as possible. "What do you think it is?" she whispered. "A _bug_?" she added, raising an eyebrow significantly.

"Put it this way," Harry murmured back. "As desperate as the press are to find out where we're living now, I don't think even they'd be creeping around our kitchen at almost two in the morning. We're more likely dealing with someone a bit more threatening..."

Harry silently cast a spell, then frowned still further as the kitchen door glowed blue.

"Something there?"

"Not a human," he mouthed back. "Possibly an animagus. Or Dark creature...but _something_." Ginny swallowed hard. "Attack," Harry mouthed, pointing to himself. "Defence," he added, pointing at her. "Shield Charm as soon as we open the door. Anything happens, _go_ , and send for Ron."

She made the OK symbol with her fingers, then copied him in levitating her way down the stairs. They both landed silently, but she worried that her heart was beating so loudly that it would give them away. Every tiny creak or groan from the house made her feel more nervous: she didn't know the place well enough yet to know if that was just the sounds it made, or if something more sinister was at play. And, try as she might to convince herself that whatever was in the kitchen was nothing to worry about, years of living through war had taught her to always, always assume the worst...

At least she had Harry.

He held up three fingers, pointing to the kitchen door. She gave a firm, resolute nod. Two fingers. She readied her wand. One finger.

Harry threw the door open and Ginny immediately shot out the strongest shield charm she could muster. She heard Harry cry something, and an instant later there was a loud bang, a tinkling sound and a yowl. " _Impedimenta_!" Harry yelled, and a very startled looking cat was frozen in mid-air, having clearly been mid-jump off the kitchen table.

Harry shot two more spells around the room and Ginny looked one way and the other, trying to see anything else in the moonlight. "Er..." Harry said, after a moment of total inaction. "It appears that the cat is the only thing in here." He sent another spell towards it, but nothing happened. "And...um...it's not an animagus. It's just...a cat."

Ginny's shoulders slumped and relief washed over her. "Unfreeze the poor thing, then!" she said, and Harry did so. She immediately dropped to her knees, reaching out towards it. "I'm so sorry kitty! I'm sorry! You poor thing, you scared us, you did! Oh, poor little kitty!" After a moment of crooning, it allowed her to stroke its head, and soon it was purring and rubbing against her torso.

"Get some milk, and a saucer," she said to Harry, who hurried to obey. He placed it next to her, then reached out to stroke the cat, too. It yowled and scratched at him and he hissed, removing his hand at once. Ginny tickled it behind the ears, and it went back to purring.

"I supposed I deserved that," he sighed. "Honestly, an Auror who can't tell the difference between a Dark wizard and a little kitten..."

Ginny's lips twitched. "Well, at least that vase won't be giving us any more trouble," she said, nodding towards the shattered remains, victim of Harry's initial spell. As they watched, the cat finished the saucer of milk, then jumped into Ginny's lap, curling up there and starting to wash itself.

"I suppose we're keeping it, then," Harry said, and Ginny beamed at him. "As long as you don't shame me by explaining how we met..."

"Come on, it wasn't all bad," Ginny said. He raised an eyebrow at her. "I've never seen you in full-on Auror mode before. And I'm not gonna lie—it was _hot_. You'll have to do it again sometime..."

Harry smirked. "Only if you're really, _really_ bad."

 **A/N:** edited 17.06, with thanks to the anon who sent the great prompt for the previous chapter, and spotted a really glaring spelling error in the first paragraph :)


	4. Chapter 4

_iv: Busy redecorating their new home, Harry plans a prank that has some unforeseen consequences for Ginny_

"Y'know, I'll almost be sorry to see it go," Harry said, prising open the paint tin.

Ginny gave him a look normally reserved for those who had been hit around the head with one too many Bludgers. " _Really_?"

"Well it's...it's memorable," Harry said, gesturing at the paint on the walls, which was—for reasons she had never been able to fathom—an almost fluorescent shade of green horribly reminiscent of snot, with the occasional dirty orange accent. There were several horrible stains on the wall by the door that they had never been able to identify that always left her feeling slightly queasy. The original carpet had been dark purple and the curtains ochre, but they had ripped both out, with some glee, the previous week. In short, the entire room had been an eyesore. "Everyone always has something to say about it," Harry said anyway.

"Yes, usually ' _uuurgh_ ', then they cover their eyes in horror," Ginny said. "Even Luna only managed 'isn't it delightful to see what a wide range in tastes people have'."

"I didn't say I _liked_ it," Harry replied mildly. "Just that...it had grown on me. Like a mould. Or a fungus."

"Maybe I should take you to St. Mungo's, get you checked out for exposure to something unnatural," Ginny said, and he flicked the paintbrush at her. She shrieked and dodged out of the way.

"Shirking already," he said, shaking his head.

"I'm awful," she agreed cheerfully. "Listen, I need go down to the village to get us some food or we won't be eating tonight, but I'll join you in a little while, if you want to make a start?"

"Sounds good," he said, giving her a quick kiss, and she waved goodbye.

* * *

A short while later, Ginny arrived back at their home with several bags of shopping, which she unpacked whilst humming along to the radio. It was almost Hallowe'en, and though the weather had grown noticeably cooler, it was still a bright sunny day. Both she had Harry had the whole weekend off, something that had not often occurred in the six months they'd been living in their new home. Not that she was complaining—she loved her job, flying for the Harpies, and when she wasn't there, she _loved_ living in the cottage with Harry.

The cottage itself had been something of a fixer-upper, the last occupant having been a very elderly wizard who had lived alone for many decades, and who had let the place fall into a state of severe disrepair. Over the summer, their priority had been to fix the holes in the roof, install running water in the bathroom, and replace most of the upstairs windows, which had been broken. But now that was done, they could finally concentrate on decorating the place to their own tastes, beginning with the living room, which had been the most hideous room in the whole place.

The previous paint had been so strong that they had been advised to neutralise its colour with a base coat, before adding their own choice on top of that, which was what Harry had been doing when she left. He seemed to have done a good job on the wall she could see through the doorway; white was covering the—

She stopped short, entering the room and her breathing immediately quickened, taking in the words written in large capitals on the far wall, the paint still dripping on a few letters: HARRY POTTER HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED BY EVIL FORCES! IT IS UP TO YOU TO SAVE HIM! Her mind whirled, barely processing the message. The letters were dripping paint down the walls, the writing was wonky and but for the colour, it looked exactly like what had happened when she had been forced to paint her own death notice on the walls of Hogwarts Castle. She felt totally unable think of anything but the image of her eleven year old self painting and sobbing and trying so hard to resist all the while but _failing_.

She still saw the scene like it was a photograph: not through her own eyes, but as though she was hovering above herself somehow, watching her own body go through the motions of dipping the paintbrush in the tin of red paint over and over, marking out her own end on the walls. She could still see her hands shaking, feel her reluctance—but it had been all for nothing, in the end. She hadn't been strong enough to overcome it.

And now her hands were shaking again, her breath coming in quick gasps, and—

Harry reversed the disillusionment spell. "Well, it's no fun if you're not going to play along!" he said cheerfully. "I wanted a squeal of terror at least and—Gin?" She had turned to face him, and watched as he was taken by surprise by her face, her stance.

"You did this?" she said, her voice sounding slightly hysterical to her own ears.

"Of course I—it was meant to be a joke—not a good one I know but I thought we could—it's a joke, you saving me like a damsel in distress—I'm the damsel, but that's not the point—Ginny, what's wrong?" Harry's sentences came in quick succession, and he tripped over his own words in his concern, reaching out to her, but she brushed him away.

"Give me the paintbrush," she commanded.

He passed it over at once, continuing to ask if she was alright, but she ignored him. She dipped the brush into the large paint tin and fairly threw the paint on it at the wall, covering the writing in rough, clumsy strokes, repeating the action over and over and over till the wall was a mess, paint unevenly slapped all over the place where the words had been—but _the words were gone_.

They were gone. She took a step back. Slowly, she laid the brush on the side of the tin, aware that she was panting and that Harry was staring at her warily. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I—I'm sorry. Seeing the words on the wall like that...it reminded me of the Chamber. When I had to paint..." She trailed off, waving a hand, as comprehension, then horror, then guilt passed over Harry's face. "It's not your fault," she said quickly. "It's not the words themselves, you could've written the shopping list or that you loved me or anything, it's just—seeing it like that. Big letters, dripping paint down the walls... It took me back. And made me freak out a bit."

"Ginny, I'm so so sorry," Harry said at once. "I didn't know, but that's no excuse—I should've thought, or—"

She gave him a tiny smile, reaching out to take his hand. "No, it's okay," she said. "I'm alright now that it's gone, and you could never have guessed. It's not your fault. You just thought it would be a little prank, and that's fine! I just... Well, it's gone now. That's all that counts."

"So messages written on walls..." Harry began uncertainly.

"Not a fan. The painted letters, the way it was scrawled, it reminded me of being forced to write out the message for where my body could be found," she said. She said the words matter-of-factly, her voice even and steady, but Harry reached out and squeezed her tightly to him, and she felt grateful for it.

"Do you remember when Neville told you some of the stuff that we got up to in the DA? Writing 'Dumbledore's Army, still recruiting' by the Great Hall? That was the first time since the Chamber I'd seen words painted on a wall like that, and I had the same reaction then. It...it was difficult. I think Nev suspected that something was wrong—something bigger than everything else that year, I mean—but he didn't know what. And today is the first time since then that I've seen something like it. So it doesn't exactly have the best connotations, you know?" She tried for a laugh, aiming for light-hearted, but it didn't quite work.

"I know," Harry. "I mean, I don't. But there are things—daft things, really—that make me feel...well, they take me back to things I'd rather not remember."

"That's exactly it," Ginny said. "It's not the paint itself, or even the message you wrote. Just...the letters on the wall." She pulled away slightly, looking him in the eye. "I'm not angry at you. And I'm sorry if I scared you, I just...let's not do that again, yeah?"

"Of course," Harry said. "Of course I won't. I'm sorry."

"No no, I don't blame you, I—"

"I meant," Harry said, "that I'm sorry it happened to you."

Ginny smiled wanly. "Yeah. Me too." She nudged him with her foot. "But hey. I'm here. I survived."

He smiled back at her, bright and true. "You did," he said. His words, his faith in her gave her strength, and she picked up the paintbrush again. She began painting the wall with slow, careful strokes, covering the old colour with something clean and new, evening out the mess she had made covering his words. Harry watched her for a moment, still smiling, and she turned and threw a clean brush at him.

"Chop chop, get going," she said, and he laughed, picking it up at getting to work alongside her. "I'm not going to do all this alone, you know!"

"I need to do the ceiling, actually," Harry said. "I'm not really sure how I'm going to do it though, without getting a huge crick in my neck..."

Ginny looked up at it too, frowning, and eyed the rickety stepladder they'd borrowed from her parents. It would take them all afternoon if they did it the traditional way, not to mention the arm-ache they'd surely get, but there didn't seem to be a better idea. Unless... "Wait here," she said, downing tools and rushing down to the shed at the bottom of the garden.

"Are you kidding?" Harry laughed, looking at what she'd returned with.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course I'm not. You know I never joke about things like this."

She placed one broom on the floor next to Harry, then carefully kicked off with the other until she was hovering about a foot below the ceiling. She summoned the paint pot, leaving it balanced in the mid-air next to her, then dipped her brush in, getting to work on the ceiling.

She'd barely made three strokes before Harry was hovering next to her. "Well, I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?" he asked.

Ginny beamed at him. "Of course not," she said. She leaned in as though she was going to kiss him, and he grinned and closed his eyes in anticipation. Then she drew a big streak of paint across his forehead. He spluttered indignantly, before regrouping for retaliation, but she'd already shot over to the other side of the room. "Catch me if you can!" she called, cornering sharply out of the door before flying off up the stairs.

Harry raced after her, following the sound of her giggles. She'd give him "damsel in distress"...

 **A/N:** this is the only one I didn't receive a specific prompt for, but I should acknowledge that I was definitely inspired by all those pictures of people writing 'the Chamber of Secrets has been opened!' on their walls :) Also, this one was probably the most angsty of them all. Tomorrow's is the last one, and it is _pure fluff_. Seriously. I have looked _everywhere_ and I still can't locate a plot.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This is about babies. I know nothing about babies. Feel free to laugh at all my small-child-related mistakes...

* * *

 _v: Harry and Ginny with their children_

"No no no Jamsie, the jam goes on the toast not the cat...oh...oh dear...come on now, eat it all up! No, not in your ear, in your mouth...yes, that's _right_! Good boy, well _done_!" One soldier of toast down, Harry was already wondering what he had actually done at breakfast time before each meal became an excuse to redecorate the kitchen. He was still finding Thursday night's baked beans in unexpected crevices...

"Totes!" James said happily, picking up another soldier and waving it wildly around the place.

"Yes, toast," Harry agreed, picking up his own slice. "Eat it up now! Yum yum yum!" He demonstrated, hoping James would follow his lead. His young son watched, wide-eyed, as Daddy rubbed his stomach and smiled delightedly at his own breakfast, then slammed his own toast, jam-side-down, on his head, rubbing it in his hair gleefully.

Harry sighed. "Well, at least you haven't had your wash yet, this morning..." he said. "Your Mummy is not going to be happy I let you get in such a mess, is she? Where is Mummy, I wonder? She was only supposed to be going to send the owl off at the bottom of the garden, d'you think she's flown away, too?" He continued babbling nonsense at James as he walked over to the sink in search of a cloth to wipe his son's face, and he took the opportunity to glance out of the window to see if he could spot where Ginny had got to.

He saw her straightaway: she was standing by the Flutterbye bush, and tears were pouring down her face.

One quick glance back reassured him that James was still safely secured in his highchair, so he hurtled towards the back door, wrenching it open. "Gin? Ginny! What's wrong? What's wrong darling?"

Ginny turned to him, her beautiful face streaked with tears, and he gathered her in his arms. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's...d-d-dead!" she gulped, before collapsing into fresh sobs.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Who's dead? Ginny? Ginny, calm down and tell me who's dead."

"The...the...the...Flutterbye bush!" she wailed. "It's dead!" Harry frowned. "Neville got it for us when we moved in, and I've been watering it and it was fine and now it's _dead_!" Every other word was interspersed with a sob, and she heaved and shook in his arms even as he soothed her. He frowned still harder. He had thought this might be a prank, but she didn't seem to be fake-crying, these were genuine tears. But Ginny hardly ever cried, and certainly not over dead plants. In fact that last time he had seen her cry had been...

Comprehension dawned.

"Come on, love, let's get you inside," he said, steering her gently indoors. "That's right. Come on, now..." Once inside, he placed her in a kitchen chair and reached out a glass of water. Her sobs had quietened to gentle hiccups by the time she'd drunk most of it, and mercifully James was oblivious to his mother's distress, still wiping toast on every surface he could reach.

"Sorry," Ginny said, her expression clearing after a moment. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I don't know _what_ came over me there!" she said, sounding much more like her old self. "Only—I, oh, _God_ , I loved that plant!" Two more tears rolled down her cheeks, and keen to avoid another crying jag, Harry leaned over the table and grasped both her hands in his.

"Ginny," he said seriously. "I'm going to ask you an important question. Is there a chance you could be pregnant?"

"I...I don't know," she said unsurely. "I...suppose yes, there is. Why?"

"Because, when you were pregnant with this one here," he nodded towards James, "you were extremely emotional at all times, and cried about something nearly every day, which isn't like you at all. You know, because of the hormones, and things. They mess with your emotions. And tear ducts..."

"I did not!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Darling, do you not remember the time you accidentally knocked over the bottle of milk then spent nearly two hours crying about its wasted potential?"

"Well...maybe you're right. I don't know, though. I've not really had any other symptoms yet. Though...I _was_ convinced that something had died in the cupboard the other day. I spend _hours_ trying to work out what the awful smell was, before I realised it was just a tiny piece of cheese that _somebody_ must've got up there, somehow."

"Tease!" said James happily.

"And my sense of smell went haywire last time, too..."

"Tell you what," Harry said. "We need a few things from in the village. Why don't you have some breakfast, and I'll pop down to get them, and I'll go by the apothecary to get you a test?"

"Okay, that sounds good. Wait...is this just so you can get out of bath time?" Ginny asked, eyeing the jam in James's hair that appeared to be setting like concrete.

"Absolutely not..."

* * *

"Well?" he said, pushing open their bedroom door, James on his hip.

"I don't know yet!" Ginny said. "It takes twenty minutes to work..."

"Where is it?" Harry asked. He kicked off his shoes and came to sit next to her on the bed, placing James down with them. He promptly crawled into his mother's arms, resting his head against her chest. She smiled, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

"Mama," he sighed contentedly.

"I love you too, Jamsie," she said. "It's in the drawer," she said to Harry, nodding towards their bedside cabinet. "I couldn't stand looking at it..."

"What do you want it to say?" he asked. Having another baby hadn't really been something they'd discussed—James was still very young, and although both of them did want another, they hadn't really made any specific plans. There was a vague "when James is a bit older" understanding, but nothing absolute, and Harry wondered for a moment if two babies so close together was something Ginny truly wanted.

"Honestly? I hadn't really given having another baby much thought," Ginny said. "We hadn't really talked about it much, had we? So I just assumed that at some point in the future it might happen, but that if it _didn't_ happen for a few years, that's fine too. I wasn't bothered." She paused and looked over at him. "And then you said 'I'll get a test!', and it made me think, and now...there's only one outcome I want."

"Positive?"

"Positive," she confirmed. "I mean, look at him," she said, nodding towards James. "He is _perfection_. I love this. I love him so much, and I'm so happy! And...I want to do it all again, only it will be even better this time, because he'll be here too, and...yeah. I want it to be positive. I now can't look at that potion. The anticipation is too much."

"How much longer?" Harry asked, his own heart starting to beat faster.

"About another five minutes," she said. They exchanged glances, both trying not to smile too much. He reached out and held her free hand, neither of them saying anything, looking at James lying between them, and imagining...

A short while later, Harry glanced at Fabian Prewett's battered old watch. "Time?"

"It's time," he confirmed.

"You do it!" Ginny blurted out, cradling James to her. Harry nodded once, then used his wand to open the draw in the bedside cabinet, levitating the vial of Potion out of it.

It was glowing bright gold.

He turned to her, too ecstatic for words, but realised she had her eyes squeezed shut. He wanted to find something beautiful to say, something honest and true and heartfelt to mark such an important occasion, but all he could manage was a yelped, "LOOK!"

Ginny's eyes flew open, and took in the positive result. She gave a tiny shriek of joy, and began kissing James's head again, half-laughing, half-crying. He couldn't even blame that on the pregnancy hormones; his own face was suspiciously wet as he joined in her cheering.

"Cry? Why?" James demanded, standing up on the bed and touching both his parents' faces in bewilderment.

"Because," Ginny said, wiping her own face dry, "Mummy and Daddy are very silly. _Silly_ Mummy and Daddy. Silly James!" She began tickling him, and he shrieked with laughter, their tears soon forgotten. "I don't want to tell him yet," she explained to Harry, over his giggles. "I want to go to a Healer, make sure everything's okay before we tell anyone. And we've got lunch at Mum and Dad's tomorrow, the last thing we want is him blurting out something about a B-A-B-Y..."

"Good point," he nodded. "We can sort a Healer's appointment out on Monday, can't we?"

"Yes. I feel much more relaxed about the whole thing this time," she said, rubbing her stomach gently. "I know what to expect, and so on. But I would like to get some medical assurances before things go much further..."

"Of course," Harry nodded. "But we'll need less time to prepare, this time—we've still got all of James's infant clothes, and a cradle, and so on. We know what to expect, all being well, like you said."

"We won't need to re-do the nursery," Ginny said. "But we'll have to see about turning the guest room into a bedroom for him."

"Hey, Jamsie!" Harry said, and his son crawled over to him. "We've got a big question for you. We're going to paint your bedroom for you. What colour do you want it? What's your favourite colour?"

"Wed!" James said. "Wed, wed, wed, wed, wed!" He had learnt the word a few weeks ago, and since then it had been his favourite word: he only wanted to eat 'wed' foods and wear 'wed' clothing.

"Was that ever in any doubt?" Ginny asked Harry, laughing.

"At least we know what House he's going to be in," he replied. "Hey—you know when we moved in, I asked your Dad about how your parents had their house remodelled, you know, all the extra floors stuck on by magic? Because I was thinking, once James is older, and Teddy too, and now we've got this one, well, we'll need another—"

"Harry!" Ginny laughed, cutting across his gabbling. "Calm down! I don't think we should be talking about adding extra stories to the house when we don't know what's going on. We don't even know anything about this one, yet!"

Harry deflated slightly, then looked over at the gold potion, still hovering above the bed. With a lazy flick of his wand, he set it to rest on top of the bedside cabinet. "Well, we know it's positive," he said.

Ginny smiled. "It's _always_ positive," she said.

 **A/N:** That's it for this fic! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has reviewed, I really enjoyed writing this :) I'm sure I'll post more Harry/Ginny stuff soon, but I will leave this as it is. Don't forget to go over to hpshipweeks to read the other fantastic contributions there. Have a lovely day!


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